Immemorial
by OP INTENSIFY
Summary: 50 sentences for the Darkin Blade based on a variety of prompts.


**FAITH**

His body is an altar bathed in the offerings of war.

 **LOST**

There were others once, but he can hardly remember their names through the bloody haze of memory.

 **LEGACY**

One hundred nations sing his praises, one hundred nations curse his name, and one thousand more have forgotten it entirely.

 **BURN**

The dragon's blood is hot, but it feels so cold against his skin.

 **ENOUGH**

One was but a taste, two whet his appetite, and three only spurred his thirst.

 **QUESTIONS**

Their eyes begged for an answer through the smoke and fire; he gave them none.

 **LESSON**

Survivors could learn, but those that died with sword in hand already knew.

 **WINTER**

All men grew old and spurned the battlefield for fear of their creaking bones, and they grew more inclined to send young men in their stead; for that he was grateful.

 **CRUELTY**

He could think of no fate more terrible than to die feeble and forgotten, far from the bloodied fields.

 **STALKED**

He had been given so many names it was a wonder any might document his passing with any measure of success.

 **IMMORTALITY**

He wonders which will end first, his life or his legend.

 **SAINT**

They made an idol of him when the dust settled, but without a pledge of blood it is inconsequential.

 **SINNER**

Wrath rests in every soul, and he delights in pulling it forth.

 **VACATION**

The only respite he finds is amongst those long since turned to dust.

 **AGITATED**

Something about the grooves beneath his fingers feel achingly familiar, yet he cannot recall when or how the stone pillar was cut.

 **WESTERLY**

From dawn till dusk they advance with the sun, and when it sets there is nothing left but ashes beneath his feet.

 **MAUSOLEUM**

The world is a graveyard and the dead lie buried in the mountains, beneath the desert sands, behind rotting forests, at the bottom of roiling oceans – by his hand, they were laid to rest.

 **NO MAN'S LAND**

They call his domain "no man's land" for only he has the right to claim it.

 **INABILITY**

He was without age or limit, yet for all his power, the world seemed to blur beyond the point of his sword.

 **GRADATION**

He distinctly recalls the mountain reaching greater heights, yet now it barely grazed the clouds – when had men come to live on its slopes?

 **VIEW**

The river shimmers with gold and red in the morning light, cutting through a forest of trees dancing to the promise of distant rain, and above it all a weary castle is crowned by the rising sun, but all he can see is a warrior raising a sword in one final act of defiance.

 **MUSIC**

They scream from ditches carved by falling stone, wail behind crumbling walls, howl above the bleeding silence in their arms; he conducts the chorus with every swing that hews flesh from bone.

 **DRINK**

Setting his blade down on the muddy banks, his uneven hands lift cool, clear water to parched lips; the taste of metal bites his tongue, and he hums as another corpse drifts by.

 **BREATHE**

Air does not come so easily, and the warlord's chest sinks deeper into a rotting throne; the battered breastplate rises once more with a faint whisper of, "we've done it," and he replies, "yes, we have."

 **ARDENT**

They shine so brightly, through rain and fire, through the withering grasp of time, but when they clash, the flickers before fading could rival the sun's radiance, and he thinks there is no greater beauty than when men wage war.

 **SLOW**

Time flies like an arrow, yet without a blade in hand he found it hardly moves at all, and eternity seems that much longer.

 **CASTLE**

Armor rattles faintly as the wretch slides around an exhausted guard, golden crown slipping to the stone floor – cowards had no place in history, and regardless of who stood in his way, he will ensure none remember the traitor king.

 **FOOL**

The craven pray for courage, the weak pray for strength, the aimless pray for guidance, the idle pray for excitement; he answers their prayers, though none seem to appreciate his deliverance.

 **MOUTH**

What use were words when his message could be made much more clearly by the point of a sword?

 **PHOTOGRAPH**

It is so brief, the sliver of red hanging in the air, catching sunlight like a ruby, every cut painting a new pattern, and he wishes its magnificence could be captured before it falls to the ground and spoils.

 **PARADISE**

His heart pounds with the marching of countless feet, his arms ache from hefting a blade drowning in blood, his shallow wounds itch as dirt and dust settle on exposed flesh; he would not wish to be anywhere else.

 **MONEY**

Cold coin slips between his fingers, dancing from one hand to the next; he pauses the exchange to gaze at the fine relief of King Jarvan I, and smiles.

 **WOOD**

The soldier presses his knife against the block, shaving away layers of fine grain, and a body begins to take shape; how fitting, he thinks, that man cuts his image into the world when moments before he was cutting his fellow man out.

 **MIDDLE**

It does not matter where blood meets so long as he is caught between it.

 **RELEASE**

For the soldiers crawling over their own entrails, freedom is never more than a few messy feet away, but for him there can be no peace.

 **CUTE**

In the light of a new dawn he watches the ball of white fluff bury itself into frost-touched pouches and smiles as it excitedly drags a round prize from beneath a frozen corpse.

 **APPLE**

Some are bitter, others are sweet, but he finds that guiding their forebears into war is a prudent investment, as they never fall far from the tree.

 **MAGIC**

There is a point between waking and dreaming where three suns dance within one and beasts of the forest exchange faces, and he has been there before, but cannot remember how to return.

 **RESPECT**

Satisfaction can be found in defeat, for a worthy opponent is always a pleasure to meet.

 **CUP**

They raise their drinks in triumph as the sun sets, but it is clear to him the red flowing over eager lips is not wine, and he wonders when they might notice.

 **CLIMB**

Men rush over the fallen to meet him and the mountain grows taller.

 **CURIOSITY**

It was with mild interest that he explored the streets of mighty empires, but a closer look revealed only ruins.

 **WINDOW**

Beyond helmets and behind visors he can see in their eyes a fire that burns with fear and hate and lust; the truth laid bare.

 **BRIDGE**

Peace isolates man; war brings them together.

 **COLOR**

The world rests in mute shades of grey, but where his sword carves a path there is color and life.

 **MILD**

On the battlefield there exists only the passion of life and the silence of death; everything between is pretense.

 **WHEEL**

From one end to the other he delivers the promise of victory, the question is how long before he carries it back.

 **ILLUSION**

Celebration fills the city and cheers echo down every street, but he knows their peace will not last.

 **BREAKFAST**

In the shadow of a mountain with more names than he can remember, he quietly chews through the rations none returned to claim.

 **HERO**

He is remembered as a hero, but only because those that would claim him a villain no longer live.


End file.
